


Let Me Go One-Shots

by Saint11Icarus



Series: Cable Car [4]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:39:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saint11Icarus/pseuds/Saint11Icarus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots set in the Let Me Go universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kira

**Author's Note:**

> Let Me Go is going to have one-shots just like Cable Car did. If you're just joining us, this is what's up-- Beth is a pretty unreliable narrator and there's a lot more that goes on in these fics than just what she experiences. These one-shots are a nice to get outside perspective or see things that Beth isn't around for. There are a number of story-driven one-shots that'll get posted when relevant (the first one is in chapter 6), but in the meantime I totally take requests. If you think of something you'd like to see all you have to do is ask and I can almost always get it done for you-- I only turn down prompts that deal with things that are later addressed in the story. Let's get started with the first one-shot for Let Me Go!
> 
>  
> 
> NobodyImportant: "So I really wanna ask for like past one shots, you know? Like, for example, the pregnancy with Kira (I keep giggling at this image in my head of Sarah super big), or one of Delphine’s...episodes.."
> 
> Delphine is going to have an "episode" in the main story, so you get some Cal instead.

Sarah has been trouble since the day I met her. I’ve never had a great memory, my parents tell me stories— they could be making them up for all I know. But Sarah… Sarah I remember with crystal clarity. Looking up at her from the deck of my boat, it was so windy that day and her hair was flying around like she had a head full of snakes, like that myth… Medusa? They say she could turn you to stone with a single glance, and I swear my heart stopped when Sarah’s eyes met mine. So she had this snake-hair whipping around her face against the background of the sky and her make up was a mess and she was panting, mouth open, chest rising and falling so fast I didn’t think she’d be able to speak, white-knuckling her backpack.

I think I fell in love with her then. I’ve fallen in love with Sarah Manning a million times, more times than any man should ever have to fall in love with a girl. I’m even falling in love with her now, flat out on her back with her snake-hair splayed all over my pillows. She looks peaceful when she sleeps, or as peaceful as she can get, I guess. She yells less when she’s sleeping. The pregnancy hasn’t done her any favors; the nausea took ages to pass, and she’s angry all the time. I don’t know how much of that is the baby, though… I mean Sarah was pretty angry to begin with.

When she told me what I’d done, that’s another moment I’ll never forget. And that’s how she brought it up— _“Look at what you’ve fucking done! You proud of yourself, you twat?!”_ , a pregnancy test clutched in one of her fists while she pounded them against my chest. I don’t think she’ll ever _let_ me forget. I thought she’d want to get rid of it, I never pictured Sarah as someone who ever wanted kids. I’m glad I didn’t bring it up, though, because her mom did and Sarah hasn’t spoken to her since.

So now she spends all of her time walking through my apartment in a tank top and underwear with her stretched skin peeking out from between the two and her bare feet sticking to the hardwood floors, reminding me of “what I’ve done”. I should be offended, I mean, sure I helped, but it’s not like she didn’t have a hand in all of this. So I should be offended, I should feel trapped, a drunken hook-up with an ex turned into something like this… But even though she hates everything about being pregnant she’s glowing. It’s hard to be offended when she’s glowing. She’s got this constant sheen of sweat across her forehead and her hair is always sticking to her face and the back of her neck and she’s always trying to blow it away, rolling her eyes into the puff of air like that’ll give it the umpf it needs to unstick the snake-strand from her cheek.

Even after eight months she hasn’t gotten used to the… you know…the belly. She’s always coming around corners too early or not pulling her chair out far enough— we’ll be lucky if the kid isn’t brain-damaged. Her body still wants her to sleep on her stomach, I wake up to her angry and kicking at the blankets almost every night when she tries to roll over. Most of the time she doesn’t want anything to do with me, like looking at me reminds her of the hell she’s stuck in. She’s hard to deal with, sure, but she always has been. It’s not like I came into this expecting anything different. That’s part of what I love about her, nothing is ever small with Sarah, everything is an upheaval— she throws her whole being into every little thing.

She makes a big deal out of going to the doctor. It’s always a string of expletives and a fight to get her in the car. I’m getting to know her well enough that I’m learning to see through the anger, I used to think that’s all she was… just a rage machine thrashing against walls and throwing punches… but she’s so much more than that. I’m seeing new parts of her every day. It didn’t take long to realize that she was scared, that she hated the prenatal check ups because every visit could bring bad news. She lashes out, sure, but she fidgets too; she'll look up at the ceiling in the waiting room and suck in breaths like she's fighting with something inside herself, wring her hands and compulsively wipe sweaty palms against her thighs.

Sonograms are the worst. Even if I forget when the appointments are I can see them coming a week away. She threw her phone at my head the day before we found out that the baby is a girl. Her hands were shaking the whole ride to the doctor’s office. Her eyes were wide and watery when she finally mustered up the courage to look at the screen and she didn’t look away until they were finished— I don’t even think she heard anything to doctor said. My dad told me to expect a lot of crying, but she hasn’t done any. She might have sniffled on our way back home that day, she was looking down at the picture they gave us and I thought I heard it. She didn’t shove my hand away when I squeezed her thigh.

So now it’s just a matter of time. I started a countdown on the calendar, I cross off each day when I leave for work. I forgot to do it this morning but by the time I’d gotten home she’d already done it— a big black X right through the box, corner to corner. I know better than to mention it, so I’m just…watching her sleep. I can see her stomach jump, the baby hates when she naps during the day. She scrunches up her face and squirms a bit, digs her heels into the mattress and groans “Kira”, rolls onto her side, curling around our kid and wrapping arms around her like she’s already here.

And right now… I know it’s all worth it.

There’s a knock at the door. Helena is the only one who ever comes around. I’m glad she’s here— as terrifying as she is, she’s always exactly what Sarah needs.


	2. Like Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some SoccerPros for SpicyCheese: "Also (since I know you're doing the One-Shots) any chance we'll get to see some of the Alison/Rachel on or off the pitch, and find out more about that?"

“Haven’t the Thorns commandeered some university sports center for training?” The breath rushed from Rachel’s lungs as her boot pounded into a ball with all of the force she could muster. The back of the loose practice net tented out with the speed of it. “Must you use ours?”

Alison smiled softly and took slow steps onto the dimly lit indoor pitch. She slipped a thumb under the strap of her gym bag and let it drop from her shoulder to a metal bench along the sideline. “We did…but I had a feeling you’d be here.”

“And you came to…? Wish me luck?” A pace to the right there was another ball waiting— Rachel struck it hard and hit her mark with perfect precision.

“No, no, of course not.”

She turned to face Alison, resting fists on hips, taking a moment to catch her breath. “Of course not.”

The artificial turf felt foreign under Alison’s cleats and she shifted her weight over it. Her AG boots were stiff, only halfway broken in despite owning them for years. “You’ve never needed luck, Rachel. And we’ve both already made the play-offs, we can just enjoy this game— no pressure.”

The blonde scoffed through her nose and went back to the line of balls, kicking the next two while Alison stood on at the edge of the small pitch.

The corners of Alison’s lips quirked upward, “It’s good to see you, Rachel. I’ve missed you.”

She stood in front of the last ball, “Yes.” She blinked down at it for a few moments before clearing her throat and rolling the ball under her foot, spinning and sending it low and fast in Alison’s direction.

She easily caught the ball with her right foot and let it drop to the ground, knocking it up off her planted left and turning, hitting it out of the air with her right heel and sending it bouncing back to Rachel as she walked back to her bag. “When are you flying back to Toronto?”

“The day after the finals.” Rachel popped the ball up in the air and kept it up while Alison dug around for a bottle of water.

She found one, sweating all over a fresh pair of socks, at the bottom of the gym bag. She took a swig and twisted the cap back on. “You seem pretty sure you’ll make it that far.” She smiled to herself, feeling the withering glare boring through her back from halfway across the pitch. “I’m kidding, Rachel.” She spun to face her, “Thirsty?”

“No.” The blonde booted the ball across the distance impatiently. Alison softened her chest and let it impact and roll down her body to the ground.

She walked towards Rachel, kicking the ball along as she went. “Here, drink.” She offered the bottle.

“I told you I’m not thirsty.”

“It’s hot, you’re sweating. And you’ve clearly been here a while. Shut up and take the water please.” She tapped the side of it against Rachel’s arm repeatedly until the blonde snatched it away.

She left a smudge of red lipstick on the mouth of the bottle. “I don’t need you to mother me.”

Alison gave a small smile and shrugged, “Clearly I do. Who watches out for you on your team, anyway?”

“I’m an adult, Alison, I do not need ‘watching after’.”

A scoff, “So you run yourself into the ground every day without anyone stopping you?” When Rachel pursed her lips and turned her head to look off across the pitch, Alison continued, “It’s not healthy, Rachel.”

“Please, spare me the patronizing tone. Did you come here to practice or to scold?” She knocked the ball free from under Alison’s foot and jogged towards the goal.

Alison sighed and set her water down on the nylon turf, wiping the condensation off on the back of her neck before running after Rachel.

They kept a slow pace, neither pushing. They maintaining a peaceful distance, even practicing cooperative passes into the net until Rachel missed an easy shot, bouncing it off the crossbar. Alison watched the blonde grind her teeth together and she went off after the ball while Rachel muttered to herself 20 yards from goal, hands on hips and sending curses into the ground.

“It can’t be easy carrying your team,” Alison mused, rolling the ball back and sending it skittering to her friend’s feet. “You guys don’t have much depth up front this season after losing Bayliss.”

“What are you implying?” Rachel cocked her head from one side to the other, cracking her neck.

Alison shrugged and took her time wandering back, letting the silence soak in for a while before answering, “I’m not implying anything… just making an observation.”

The blonde whipped to the side, bending the ball low to the ground and right into Alison’s water bottle. She twisted her body and pinned the other woman with a smirk. “Don’t fool yourself, Alison. I’m better than ever.”

Alison chuckled, the awkwardness that had hung in the muggy air since she’d walked into the building dissolved in an instant and she caught Rachel in a tight hug as soon as she was close enough. “I never had a doubt.” The blonde returned the embrace with as much affection as she was inclined to show outside of a game. “I mean, honestly, I saw that hat trick you put up against the Breakers last week— perfect strikes. Three shots, three goals, you’ve never lost it, Rachel.”

“And you’d do well to remember it,” she brushed her hands against the fabric of her practice kit. “Perhaps I’ll give you a show during the game tomorrow…” she took a deep breath and let it out through her nose, pressing red lips into a tight line, “I could use a warm up before the playoffs.”

They shared genuine smiles for a few beats before taking off in unison towards the ball, racing neck-and-neck, each with an arm out for leverage against the other’s torso.


	3. LMG Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah finds herself staring up at a familiar window.

Sarah grunted with the effort of throwing another pebble all the way up to the second story. She waited a few beats and ducked down to pick up another, fingers fumbling blindly in the dark. When she hauled back her arm to chuck it, she stopped short. Rachel had the window slid open, was leaning out of it, elbows locked against the frame.

“Pebbles?”

Sarah dropped the small rock over her shoulder and raked a hand through her hair, shrugging. “I’m not spry enough to get on you roof anymore,” she gestured towards the trash can she used to climb on, “I tried.” Rachel was quiet, just watching her with slowly blinking eyes. “I…uh…” Sarah swallowed, “d’you want to come down here?”

It was several seconds before Rachel answered, “Yes.”

“Alright.” Sarah’s shoulders shifted under jacket. Rachel wasn’t moving. “You coming or what?” The punk’s words seemed to snap her into action and Rachel slid the window shut. Sarah had to wait a few minutes before the front door opened and Rachel came out.

She leaned up onto the balls of her bare feet to minimize contact with the cold concrete and took slow steps towards Sarah, stopping several yards away. They stood with arms crossed and eyes locked for nearly a minute before Rachel spoke, “What are you doing here, Sarah?”

“Alison said you’d be—“

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“I—“ Sarah sighed, “I don’t know. I wanted to see you.”

Rachel pursed her lips, pale without their usual red stain, “It’s been ten years, Sarah. I’ve moved on.”

“Have you?”

Rachel turned her head away.

“Yeah…” Sarah took a few steps closer. Her hand roughed the back of her neck, “Look, me too, I’ve moved on too. I just wanted to—”

Rachel moved quicker than Sarah could speak. She crashed into the punk, their lips slamming together violently. Pale fingers slid into Sarah’s jacket to tangle with the fabric of her shirt. The brunette groaned, snaked her arms tight around Rachel’s waist. Her heart slammed against her ribs, acutely aware of the way Cal never made her actually _feel_. Rachel gripped the back of her neck and squeezed. Her tongue came out to meet the punk’s, back arching into her body. She felt Sarah’s torso tilt, strong hands finding the backs of her legs and lifting her, she hugged Sarah’s hips with her knees. The punk took a few slow steps forward until Rachel’s back hit the door of her truck. Their lips parted and Rachel shoved Sarah’s jacket off of her shoulders— Sarah slid her hands up Rachel’s thighs.

But then she slowed, her hands gripping with less surety, her teeth biting with less need. Rachel responded in kind, with eyelids fluttering open and fingers brushing against Sarah’s jaw. The brunette pulled away and dropped her head, shoulders sagging. Rachel eased her feet back to the driveway. “Sarah?”

“Rachel, I…” She sighed, “shit…” shook her head. “A lot has changed.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. Her words came out with a familiar annoyed stretch, as if no time had passed at all, “Yes, for all of us.” She nudged Sarah away, prickling from her rejection.

Sarah moved too easily, stumbled back, her hand coming to her forehead. “I don’t know why I came.”

“You wanted to see me.” Rachel reminded.

“Right, right.”

Blinks came in slow motion, the uncomfortable purse of her lips. Sarah shifted at the sight.

“Rachel, Cal and I…”

The steady beat of Rachel’s eyelids sped up, lost rhythm.

“We’re together and…”

“Sarah.”

“Rachel, we have a kid. A daughter— Kira. She’s seven now, and—“

Rachel’s jaw dropped, actually, physically dropped. Sarah wished she could have felt some satisfaction at the movement, but her gut just clenched as something ghosted through Rachel’s eyes. “A child?”

Sarah nodded.

Her voice hardened, “And you came to, what, _tell me_?”

“I—“ it had felt so important, but when Rachel said it her reasoning sounded ridiculous. Sarah sighed and dropped her arms down to her sides, “Yeah.”

The blonde’s tongue tutted against her teeth and she averted her gaze, “How excellent for you,” her arms crossed over her chest, “motherhood is wonderful.”

Sarah eyed her warily and took a step closer but Rachel jerked away, turning her back. “Rachel…”

“You should leave. Now.” She walked back up the driveway, ignoring Sarah’s breathy apologies.

***

She couldn’t sleep. She was pressed between their bodies— Cal and Kira radiated so much heat. She tried to tuck any available fabric between their sticky skin and hers. The door cracked open, it was a quiet sound, tacky with the age of the house. Sarah leaned up, craning to look over the expanse of blankets and twisted bodies. Helena’s skin brought its own light, pale shoulders and bright hair.

The blonde was hunched over, tiptoeing into the room. Her eyes darted up to meet Sarah’s and she tilted her head in question. Sarah would be forever thankful for her sister’s ability to _know_ when something was wrong— to sense the knot in her gut all the way from the bedroom she shared with Tony down the hall. “Helena,” she let out a breath and pushed her forearm into Cal’s heavy body, shoving against his shoulder blades with a grunt.

He stirred, moaned, as he was forced from a deep sleep. “Wha?” His head lifted when Helena drew closer to the edge of the bed, standing over him like a silent ghost with her head cocked at an awkward angle and her arms limp at her sides. He let out a drawn out groan, rubbing a hand over his face. The room was quiet enough that Sarah could hear the scratch of his beard against his palm. He lifted the corner of the blanket and sat up. They’d been together long enough and nightly visits from Helena were commonplace. He stood, begrudging, but without a fight, fisting his pillow and padding slowly out of the room.

Helena took his place immediately, the length of her body slotting against Sarah’s. She buried her face in her sister’s shoulder, huffing into strands of hair pressed between them. “You went to see Rachel.” It wasn’t a question.

Sarah’s resolve gave, her lungs clenching. She struggled to take in a breath, nodding into the crook of Helena’s neck. “Yeah,” she sniffled.

“And you smell like Cal.”

Sarah breathed out a weak laugh, nodding again, “Yeah.”

_He was sprawled out asleep on the couch when she pushed open the door, the flickering of the tv painting his skin the same light blue as his shirt. She let her fingertips graze his shoulder, knuckles brushing against his chest as she scooped up the remote resting there and dropped it to the floor. He didn’t wake up until she had nearly all of her weight on him, wedging her knee between his hip and the back of the couch, hands moving under his shirt, into the waistband of his pajama pants to take him in her fist._

_Her thoughts were of Rachel when she finally lowered herself onto his length— not of her hands on the blonde’s body, but of the rolling nausea she’d felt. She had been so certain that she’d moved on, but with Rachel pinned to her car, with their lips molded together and tongues thrusting, she wasn’t so sure._

Helena’s nose buried in her hair and she felt a hum rumble through her sister’s chest. Helena never questioned her. Sarah wished she never questioned herself.


	4. Motherhood Is Wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two birds, one stone.
> 
> SpicyCheese: "any way we could see that Rachel's thoughts about that scene? Or just more of her thoughts in general on the subject- she's such an enigma"
> 
> Anonymous (on tumblr): "Can i request a LMG one shot of lumberfamily? I need their dynamic in your story like i need air"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's terribly disjointed and chaotic, so sorry, but it's intended to be that way. I'm not in control of the muse, okay?!

Kira was running ahead, too far for Sarah’s comfort, but Cal put his hand on her arm and smiled that crooked half-smile. _Calm down_ it said, _she’s fine_. But Helena, at her hip, knew better. One look from Sarah was all it took and the blonde let out a playful pterodactyl screech and took off, swooping after Kira with arms outstretched like massive wings.

“It’s a nice day,” Alison said, shielding her eyes against the sun and looking up into the cloudless sky.

Cal glanced over his shoulder and grinned, “Sure is.” He slid his hand into Sarah’s and squeezed her palm, “Are you having fun?”

“Huh?” She jerked her attention back to him, “What? Yeah,” stitched together a smile, “yeah, this is a good time.”

“You seem distracted, is all.” He cocked his head and his loose hair caught with the breeze, blew gently over his forehead, he ran his fingers through it to push it back in place, “You’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Sarah kept her face turned to Cal but her eyes flicked back towards Alison, “Cal…”

Alison looked between them and quickened her pace, passing Sarah with a pat on the shoulder, “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Sarah couldn’t have been more thankful.

***

She saw them. Rachel’s breathing hitched and she took one more step forward before turning her hips and walking in the other direction.

“Rachel, darling?” Ethan, his stammering lips working before his brain did, his shuffling feet. He stutter-stepped to a stop and spun to find her. “Rachel?”

She leaned her shoulder into the glass of the enclosure, her forehead resting on peaked fingers, “Over here, Father,” she ground the words impatiently through her teeth.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

She took in a deep breath through her nose and straightened, smoothed her clothing and reset her spine, her shoulders, tilted her chin up and slowed her frenzied blinking. “Nothing. I’m… wonderful.”

He reached for her, stretching one of his arms forward from where he’d had both curled in front of himself— like a rodent. “Where would you like to go next?”

The trip to the zoo was meant to be a calming excursion, for both of them. A chance to bond over the animals as they once did, with Ethan bent low over Rachel’s small frame, whispering facts about finches and parrots and penguins. But age had twisted his brilliant mind and it was more evident here, in the crowded atmosphere, than it was even at home. Though no where was his deterioration more painfully obvious than it was on the soccer pitch— that was why she was here, after all. During their last call her step-mother was beseeching, a tone that Marion Bowles never took, _”Come home, Rachel, convince him it’s time.”_

She wished prying her father’s curled fingers from his team was her only concern. What were the odds that she’d agreed to accompany her father on this fatuous outing (as if they could possibly fall into the same habits they once had) on the same day that Sarah Manning had decided to _strut_ her _brood_ around the bloody Toronto Zoo?

***

“Look Mummy! Monkeys!” Kira was bouncing on the balls of her feet and the unidentifiable discomfort that had wound itself around Sarah’s heart since the moment they’d passed through the turnstiles, eased.

She smiled and kneeled, slipping an arm behind Kira’s legs and standing, cocking a hip to hold the child who was probably too old now to be carried around. Sarah would never stop carrying her. “Yeah, baby, monkeys. Just like you!” She brushed a strand of curls from in front of Kira’s eyes and spun them in a tight circle.

The girl’s laugh was the only sound she ever wanted to hear. Sarah still couldn’t believe she’d ever made anything so good. Seven years later and every day she loved Kira more. Cal’s chest was warm at her back— he was reaching around her body to adjust the butterfly barrette that kept Kira’s wild hair in place.

“Hold still there, kiddo!” It snapped back into place under his thick fingers and he cupped Kira’s head with one hand, kissed Sarah’s temple.

She wanted this. She wanted to be happy leaned back against the father of her child, with her safe in their arms. She loved them. She was so restless.

***

“Let’s go, Father.”

“But we haven’t even seen the lorikeets.”

Rachel’s jaw clenched.

_“Smile my loves!” Her mother’s voice came from behind the camera, finger poised to take a shot. Her father laughed._

_Ethan rested a hand on her shoulder. They held disposable plastic cups, Rachel’s tight in fingers so much smaller than her father’s. They were covered in brilliantly colored birds, perched on any available surface. Rachel closed her eyes against their flapping wings. One landed on her head, his toes tangling in her hair. Her father laughed._

_She struggled to stay still, to not cry out. Two lorikeets fought over the sugar water dyed red in the cup clenched in her fist. “They like you!” Her father laughed._

_Rachel wanted to leave. Her father laughed._

_She smiled. Her mother took the picture._

Sarah Manning held her daughter in her arms. Cal Morrison held Sarah Manning in his arms. Rachel held herself, arms crossed tightly against her chest. She turned her face away. “We’re leaving.”

Ethan frowned, clumsy lips wrenching downward. “But…”

“We’re leaving!” She hissed, swiveling to glare at him— old and fragile and nothing like the man she used to know. She couldn’t stand him.

She couldn’t stand one more accidental run in, she’d spent the whole day avoiding them. One more moment of seeing little _Kira Manning_. _Kira Manning. Kira Manning._

_Motherhood is wonderful._

She hadn’t had the time or the desire to have a child. She was too focused on her career. She’d never wanted it— the crying at all hours of the night, the dirty nappies, wailing child. _Mummy, mummy, mummy._ She’d imagine her life reduced to sticky, grabbing hands. Some blonde haired, blue eyed babe reaching, reaching, needing.

_She tucked her clutch under her elbow and walked into the clinic with her head held high. Her heels struck loudly against the linoleum. The waiting room was disgusting, she looked down her nose at its crumpled magazines and stained couches._

_The receptionist finally looked up from her computer._

_“Hello…my name is Rachel Duncan.”_

Motherhood is wonderful. 


	5. LMG Chapter 8

Hazel eyes trained firmly on Tony, watched him lift the roll of transparent medical tape to his mouth. His silver tooth gripped the edge and he tore off a length, spitting it out and laying it over the border between bandage and skin, pressing against the outside of Cal’s arm with black-gloved hands. “All done, man.” He smacked his thighs and pulled the gloves off, adding them to the pile at his left knee. Cal smiled and thanked him, grunting as he got to his feet. Sarah met him for a kiss and Delphine let her gaze wander back to Tony.

For all his humor, the man’s face was somber, quiet in the slow moments when no one was watching. Cal and Sarah wandered off, hands in each other’s back pockets, to meet the rest of the group, congregating nearby. Tony was swapping out needles, wiping down the gun. The doctor in her cringed at how rudimentary their sterilization techniques had been— not much better than they’d been ten years ago (but at least each person got a fresh set of needles).

“Delphine.” She licked her lips and dared to meet his eyes. “Come here.”

She rocked up onto her knees and waddled closer, continuing with his coaxing motions until she was nearly pressed to his thigh. “Yes?” Things felt easier and more difficult between them at the same time. She suddenly realized that, in the fading light, they were alone for the first time in nearly a year.

His fingers dug in the box of gloves and he pulled out a fresh pair. “You’re not quite done.”

She blinked, tilted her head, “What?”

The sound of nitrile snapping against skin was all too familiar, as was the feel of the cool material on her flesh. She tucked her elbow into her side and turned her wrist to give him access to the bandage he’d applied only a few hours before. He shook his head, his long hair shifting over his shoulders, “Nah.” He grabbed her other hand as well, fingers pressed into the meat at the junction of her thumbs. “Which hand was it?”

“I—“ she was suddenly unsure, uneasy, the strength of his fingertips digging into her flesh was dancing on the edge of painful.

“When you performed CPR…” he cleared his throat, “on Felix.”

Realization dawned and her eyes slid closed. She squeezed his hand gently with her left— the hand that settled over Felix’s sternum, the heel of her palm that felt the reverberation of his ribs snapping under her desperately thrown weight. Tony dropped her right hand and picked up the tattoo gun. She was a doctor, she couldn’t have tattoos on her hands, but the firm set of Tony’s jaw, the reassuring pressure of his hand on hers, left her unmoving.

In the vibration of the gun she heard rolling, clattering, wheels of the AED cart as a nurse rushed in behind her, the thrumming of her heartbeat in her ears, drowning out everything around her— a pulsing beat lacking in Felix’s slack body. The sting of the needle couldn’t pull her away from the memory of her knee knocking against his arm and the way it dropped off the edge of the gurney, long fingers brushing against her scrubs. Her eyes burned with tears, her free hand coming up to cover her open mouth exactly as it had that night when she took stumbling steps backward, knocking into the coworkers crashing past her to apply defibrillator pads to Felix’s bare chest where they’d cut his shirt from collar to navel— so like the dipping necklines of shirts he’d worn as a teenager.

A nurse caught her as she’d fallen back into his body, held her with his arms under hers, elbows hooked into her armpits. She was feeling weak now, but Tony was already done and she finally pushed past the terror racing through her when his bare thumb brushed against her cheek.

“It’s alright, blondie.” His voice was as soothing as she’d ever heard it.

She took several beats to steady her breathing and when she opened her eyes she found him curled around his left hand. He’d stripped off his gloves and was putting gun to flesh— in the clench of his fist, the bulge of meat where thumb met hand. The thought that he hadn’t changed out the needle flitted through her mind as she glanced down at her own hand, finding a thick black dot, like an uneven, discolored mole in the same spot Tony was marking himself.

She let out a shuddering breath.


	6. Scotch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: "Gosh I am just full on feeling Delphine right now. Can we please have another one shot from her pov?? Something crazy, like when Cosima died, or even just her thoughts on a normal day."

Delphine didn’t drink often. Despite Beth’s reassurances, she thought it better not to keep alcohol around the house. Delphine’s life was a constant cycle of work, home, sleep, work, home, work, sleep at work, go home and stare at the television until her eyes burned. But with Alison’s whispered promise— lips brushed against her cheek as they walked out the door with suitcases in hand— to keep Beth safe and occupied, Delphine was left missing something.

Beth provided some layer of comfort that Delphine couldn’t find wrapped in a blanket of stale cigarette smoke that seeped into the couch and lingered for days. The smell was triggering in itself… bringing back memories of the stone wall of Mount Sinai Hospital, the texture of it against the soft cotton of her shirts day after day, her hair catching in its porous surface. Quietly she would watch smoke curl from the end of her lit cigarette, jet out from her nostrils— long after the other kids had gone home for the night.

She spent every spare second at Cosima’s bedside, only sneaking out to take long, heavy drags after the worsening girl fell asleep. Cosima slept often towards the end, her body exhausted from fighting a losing battle.

Delphine shuttered her eyes against the grief— constant and never waning in its depth. She wished with every passing year for the ache to ease, but her prayers went unanswered.

And so, with Beth gone for the week, Delphine found herself staring at rows and rows of glass bottles. She’d reached the limit of hours she was allowed to work and had been shuffled out early by a diligent and well-meaning human resources worker, shoved by warning threats of the repercussions she’d (never actually) face if she turned up at the hospital again before Monday.

Hazel eyes scanned the decorative bottles, took in their shapes and labels. She was drawn, with a pull from her gut, not to the beautifully artistic bottles themselves, but to the colors of the liquid within— the ambers and honeys.

“Do you need help finding anything, Ma’am?”

Her head jerked toward the voice. How long had she been staring? “Non, je suis désolée, j'étais distrait.” She coughed to clear her throat, shook her head and held out a hand in apology— “I’m sorry,” she forced a pained smile, “I just got distracted. Thank you.”

The worker eyed her carefully, with obvious concern, before nodding and moving away. Delphine licked her lips and turned back to the selection, her fingers closing over the neck of a bottle of scotch— a perfect match to the warm pools of Cosima’s eyes.

She would fall into them again.


	7. Taylor St George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NobodyImportant: "Hey so I have a one shot request. You know how Alison has been with other people? I'm just curious how/why/when she decided to do that. Cause she still loves Beth and junk. I just wanna get in her head, you know?"

She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened when she hit the ground, knowing only the sharp pain of her shoulder slamming against the unforgiving turf and the excruciating twist in her thigh. She heard her name shouted from all directions, the familiar voices of her teammates growing closer. Charity’s face came into view, but the edges of her vision were blurred and she could see the pulse of her own heartbeat. Alison saw her gently shoved away by Maggie, the team’s assistant athletic trainer.

“Alison, hey, you alright?” The woman smiled at her before lowering her head to dig through her bag, speaking through a curtain of raven black hair, “Is it your leg?”

Was it? She hadn’t realized that both hands were clasped around that deep, intense ache. “Yeah,” she coughed out, pressing through the pain to answer, “hamstring.”

“Mmm, do you want me to get the doc over here?” Maggie rolled her slowly onto her back and lifted her knee, watching Alison’s face contort in pain.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

She felt the splash of cold water against the back of her thigh, felt it run down into her shorts. Maggie was manipulating her leg slowly, immediately releasing pressure whenever Alison cringed. “Okay, let’s get you to the office, I’ll go grab the stretcher.”

Her own teammates carried her off the pitch, one on each corner of the stretcher, their knuckles white around the nylon handles weighing into their palms. Charity cooed the whole way along, brushing Alison’s bangs aside with her free hand. She had to stretch her arm across her body to reach Alison’s face and the awkward angle she was walking at made the whole stretcher jostle with every step.

The trainer’s office was cold and Alison was endlessly thankful. It was also…occupied. A woman was crosslegged on top of the only exam table in the room, a book propped open in her lap surrounded by stacks of papers that covered every available inch of the bench. Alison’s head shot up at the same time as the redhead’s and they locked eyes, both rushing through hurried apologies— Alison for interrupting, and the stranger for…well, being in the way. She scrabbled off the table, scooping up pages by the handful. Alison hadn’t realized how tall she was with her legs folded under her, but now it struck her… the woman was a giant, with a mane of beautiful flame red curls— loose twists that framed her face, flowing lines that stood in stark contrast to her straight nose and strong jaw.

The team prepared to hoist the stretcher onto the table but Alison patted the shoulders of Charity and Sarah, the two women at her head. “I can stand, just put me down.” They lowered the stretcher to the ground and Sarah extended her hand to help Alison up off the floor. Charity pushed her shoulders from behind and she got her good leg under her. She hopped forward a few steps until she found her balance and smiled at her friend, “Thank you.”

“Do you want us to stay?” “Do you want me to go?” The team and the stranger spoke at the same time.

“No.” Alison said. Everyone looked around in confusion for a beat before she elaborated— “No, to…” she gestured, “both.” Through a wide smile she said, “You guys go,” and graciously received their hugs. She watched them lumber out the door before turning on the woman, “and you stay.”

The redhead smiled, “Okay.”

“I’m sorry for stealing your table.” She turned her back to it and lifted herself onto the end, holding her weight up on her arms as she lowered herself as gently as she could manage.

The woman waved her off, “No, it’s fine, you need it more than I do!”

Alison giggled and tilted her head, “I don’t know about that.” She pointed to the papers now piled on a chair, a few had fallen to the floor in the chaos, “a lot of homework?”

“Yes,” she lifted her arm and dropped her head to look under it at the mess she’d made, “it’s not mine, don’t worry.” At Alison’s puzzled expression, she explained, “My students.”

Alison’s brows rose, “You’re a teacher?”

“Grad student.” The woman talked with her whole body and Alison felt the pang of it in her gut. The way her wrists twisted around her words was distinctly Cosima. “Psychology.”

“Alison,” she offered a hand.

Her smile was brilliant and open and kind and her palm was soft, smooth, “Taylor.”

***

“How long are you out for?” Taylor’s long legs were stretched out across the chairs that took up one wall of the trainer’s office.

It was day three of Alison’s forced rest, put up with a badly strained hamstring. She laid flat on the table with a bag of ice under her thigh. “Just the rest of the week, hopefully.” She shrugged and looked up at the foam-board ceiling. “It’s just sort of wait and see, I guess.”

Taylor shared a house just off campus with Maggie. They were without air-conditioning until their landlord deemed them worthy of a service visit and she’d taken to the frigid office every day to grade papers. Though, in the days since Alison had been stretchered in, she’d gotten very little grading done.

“Let me see it?”

Alison chuckled and lifted her leg, tilting on her side until she heard Taylor hiss through clenched teeth. “Does it look bad?”

“Oh yeah,” Alison felt the pressure of fingertips against the injury, the ice pack leaving her skin numb to any acute sensation. “It’s all swollen and purple.”

“Ecchymosis,” Maggie cut in as she opened the door. She carried armfuls of ace wraps and splints. “It’s fluid build up from the ruptured cells of your muscle.”

Taylor snorted and flashed a smile, “It’s a bruise.”

The trainer returned the grin, “Yes. It’s a bruise.”

Alison groaned and returned to her back, “Am I really going to be out all week?”

“At least,” Maggie said, distracted while she organized the supplies she’d brought in into their respective drawers, “it’s a second degree strain, pretty nasty, though I’ve seen worse.”

Taylor had scooted her chair to Alison’s side and threw her elbow up on the table, “So you were just running and dropped?”

Alison nodded, “Yeah, poor foot placement. My fault.”

“No one’s fault,” Maggie twisted at the waist to point a splint in Alison’s direction, “—freak accident.”

Taylor dropped her head to the side and smiled at Alison, “Sounds like you’re a klutz.”

“Excuse me,” Alison scoffed, “I am not a klutz.”

The tall woman laughed, “Ooookay klutz, whatever you say.”

Alison threw her gasp of mock offense and pulled the icepack from under her leg, flinging it against Taylor’s chest.

“Hey! Cold!”

“Jerk,” Alison giggled.

***

Taylor was usually already in the office when Alison trudged in, but on Rest Day Number Six, Alison found herself alone. She was…sad? She shifted her weight on the bench and was deep in trying to assess her feelings, so focused on the internal that she didn’t hear the door open.

“What are you thinking about?”

Her head shot up when Taylor’s long fingers settled on her shoulder. “Oh!”

The woman smiled, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You—you didn’t.”

A thin red eyebrow hiked up Taylor’s forehead, “I can tell by the way you jumped a mile off the table.”

“I did not j—“ Alison fumbled, “never mind. Where have you been?”

For long, loaded moments, Taylor’s blue eyes watched Alison silently. Finally she asked, “Why? Did you miss me?”

“I—“ Alison blinked, frustrated that she seemed so unable to find her footing, “No.” When a sad smile twitched the corner of the grad student’s lips before suddenly vanishing, Alison rushed to repair the damage, “Yes.”

The smile picked up force, spreading over Taylor’s face, “I was meeting with the air-conditioning guy.”

She felt an uneasiness high in her stomach, “Your air conditioner is fixed?”

Taylor nodded, “Yep.”

“So I guess you’re not going to be hanging out here anymore…”

“Yeah.”

They were quiet. One sitting on the end of the exam table and the other standing at her side, both studying their hands. Alison couldn’t help but notice how still the tall woman was, her perpetual motion suddenly stagnant.

It was Alison who spoke first, “So why are you here now?”

“I, uh,” Taylor chuckled and Alison’s eyes lit up at the blush blooming over prominent cheekbones. “I couldn’t very well just leave…this…” she finally moved again, gesturing between them with a curled wrist, open palm, picking up speed, “whatever this is.” A heavy weight landed on Alison’s shoulders. Taylor reached out to brush her knuckles down Alison’s arm, “I came to ask you out.”

“I have a…” lashes fluttered over dark eyes, the images of Beth that lived on the backs of her lids flitting by like a faulty film reel, like a stop-motion movie. “I have a Beth.”

“A Beth?” Taylor’s head dropped to the side and she broke into a smile, Alison thought she looked like a puppy. “Your girlfriend’s name is Beth?”

“She’s not my girlfriend…” Alison sighed and tried to sooth the tension from her forehead with the tips of her fingers, “It’s a complicated situation.”

Taylor hummed quietly and righted her head as she drew her lips into her mouth. After a few moments she said, “So…do you want to explain this complicated ‘your Beth’ situation over coffee?”

“Yes.” Alison’s vocal cords sprung into action before her brain, or her heart, had time to send her inner workings into a war zone.

Taylor’s dazzling smile was something she could get used to, “When?”

“Well,” she glanced down at her leg, compressed tightly in an ace bandage, “I’m not exactly busy right now.”

The grad student snapped the fingers of both hands, slapping an open palm over the balled fist of her other hand, “Neither am I.”

***

Four weeks, three movies, two dinners, and one coffee date between them, Alison found herself in Taylor and Maggie’s house— not for the first time, but for the first time this early in the morning. The light was bright enough to sting her eyes. The gauzy white curtains blew gently in the breeze drifting in through the open window over Taylor’s bed. She lifted herself onto her elbows, the unbelievably soft mattress gave so easily under her weight. A hand darted to her mouth to wipe up the inevitable drool, the other swiping desperately at the sheet under her. Her dignity was spared— Taylor was nowhere to be seen.

They’d stayed up so late, laughing and talking and binge watching Netflix on the couch, exchanging gentle kisses by candlelight in the warm, homey living room. When Alison’s eyes began to droop, Taylor unlaced their fingers and reached up to graze the young woman’s cheek. “Hey, you should just crash here tonight.”

Alison’s eyes fluttered open and met the deep stare of baby blues. “Stay here?”

“Yeah,” Taylor’s lips twitched into an easy smile, “if you want.”

Her breath caught in her throat, “Taylor, I’m not ready for—“

“Hey, I’m not looking for anything like that.” Her palm cupped Alison’s cheek, “No funny business, I promise.”

“I’m a virgin.” She blurted it out, as soon as the words left her mouth her horrified eyes widened. “Oh God,” she dropped her face into her hands and groaned, “I can’t believe I just said that.”

Taylor laughed, loud, but quieted quickly. “I’m not laughing because you’re a virgin,” she quickly explained, trying to tug the shield of fingers away from Alison’s face, “it was your reaction, it was adorable.” After another feeble attempt to get the small woman to look at her, Taylor leaned her head down next to Alison’s ear, “Hey, it’s okay. Alison, look at me?”

She slowly uncurled, giving Taylor a worried look. “I really didn’t plan on telling you.”

“Didn’t plan on telling me?” Taylor frowned, “Alison, what did you think I’d say?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed and flung her hands down in her lap. “It’s just embarrassing. I’m twenty-one and I’ve never had sex.”

The redhead smiled and closed the distance between them, kissing Alison until she felt her relax and respond, slow and soft. Her long fingers raked through Alison’s hair when they parted. “Weren’t you and Beth together for years?”

Alison’s lashes fluttered for a moment, she wondered how much information was too much, knowing Beth wouldn’t appreciate her telling a stranger. Still, this wasn’t just about Beth, it was about _her_ too. “We never—“ she took a deep breath, “Beth is asexual. She doesn’t experience the desire to have sex, to follow through, like ever.”

Taylor nodded, “Yeah, I’ve heard of asexuality.”

“We came close… a lot… all the time…every day…” Alison’s weak laugh faded into a sigh, “but it never, like, _happened_.”

The tall woman leaned back against the couch heavily, processing the information for a few moments before wobbling her wrist side-to-side. “And you were okay with that?”

Immediately defensive, Alison’s hackles went up, “Of course I was okay with that, I—“

“Hey,” Taylor lifted her fluid hands, placating, “it’s me, Alison.” When she eased, the redhead continued, “You don’t have to…” she gestured, “do this… with me…”

Alison swallowed, she couldn’t stop the sudden swelling heat rushing to her eyes, scratching the back of her throat with it’s burning. “I…” a breath shook from between her parted lips, “it was hard.” The words weighed more than she’d ever realized, the overwhelming emotions she’d never allowed herself to feel, not ever, not for an instant… emotions that weren’t fair to Beth. “Oh my God,” and the tears fell, and she crumpled, crushed by the guilt at thinking those thoughts for one second. _She’d needed more from Beth for so many years_.

***

Four months, three fights, two declarations of love, and one expensive looking necklace between them, Alison woke to warm heat encasing her nipple, to the gentle graze of teeth. She moaned and arched her back, her hand finding the back of Taylor’s head, fingers getting lost in the mess of red tresses.

She could feel the other woman’s laugh jet out of her nostrils. “Good morning,” came the mumble from around Alison’s breast.

A flick of her tongue brought another moan tumbling from Alison’s mouth. “Very good morning.”

Taylor tore herself away, dragging her body up Alison’s until her face hovered a breath away from lips begging for contact. “What are you doing today?”

“Packing.”

A crease formed between red brows, “Packing?”

Alison blinked a few times, “Yes. I’m going home for a few days.”

Taylor sat back, her face a mix of hurt and confusion. “You didn’t mention you were going home.”

“I…” Alison shook her head and sat up, sliding back until her shoulders met the headboard, “I know. I’m sorry. It’s only a few days.”

“You didn’t think I’d notice? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, suddenly dry. “Because I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Taylor’s head fell forward, “How about, ‘hey babe, just flying back to Canada for a bit, be back soon’?”

Alison leaned forward and grabbed the older woman’s arms, pulled her closer, “It’s more complicated then that.”

“Because of Beth?” When Taylor looked up it was with cornflower blue eyes filled with pained compassion.

Alison nodded, unable to form words.

Taylor sighed and flopped onto her back, pulling the covers up over her jutting hipbones. “Talk to me about it.”

“Talk to you about it?”

“Of course, Alison.” Taylor dropped her hand down to meet the cool one beside her, linking their fingers together. “Your emotions have got to be all over the place… seeing Beth again? That’s heavy.”

Alison squeezed the hand cupping her own, “I see her every year. We have a friend— _had_ a friend— Cosima.” She quieted, trying to get out the words, “She died a few years ago.”

Taylor’s voice was nothing more than an exhale, “Oh.”

Alison cleared her throat and continued, “We visit her every year, on the day— uh,” another struggled cough to clear the tension from her chest, she could feel it creeping up into her molars, “on the day she died. We visit her grave.”

Warm weight leaned into her shoulder, lips brushing against her ear. “That’s… intense.”

Alison shrugged and tried to tamp down the emotion like she’d seen Beth do with such ease so many times before. She wasn’t as good at it. Her lower lip trembled until Taylor gentled it with the back of a finger, using the motion to urge Alison’s face toward her. Taylor’s touch was so different from Beth’s— giving more than taking, soothing where Beth’s was desperate. Alison shook her head, pulling away from the redhead’s comforting mouth. “I can’t.”

Taylor tilted her head, “You can’t what?”

“I can’t kiss you.”

It was an almost-chuckle that rattled Taylor’s chest, caught in her windpipe, “Why not?”

“I was honest with you on our first date, about Beth…”

Red hair bounced along as the other woman nodded, “About falling back into your relationship when you see her?”

“Yes, and I—“

“You feel guilty kissing me because you know you’re going to cheat on me tomorrow?”

Alison averted her eyes, but when Taylor coaxed her back with a knowing finger under her chin her face was brimming with a bright smile. “Hey, do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m not worried about it.”

Alison shifted away from her touch, “How can you say that?”

The tall woman shrugged, “Because I know you’re going to come back, North Carolina is your home now, Alison. And things with Beth may never change, you may always have this yo-yo thing going on with her, but you’re not there anymore. You’re not the same person you were then, hell, you’re not even the same person that you were when I met you. You’re growing so much, and so fast. And I have a whole lot of faith in us.” Alison smiled and ducked her head, but Taylor continued, “So you can go back to Toronto and sink back into your old life, back into Beth’s arms, as long as when the trip is over… you come home to me and keep on growing.”

Alison managed to pull herself together, lifting the sheets and swinging a leg over the naked body next to her, dropping it around her waist. “You are such a romantic, Taylor St George.” She buried her fingers in Taylor’s hair and rocked forward against her.

“No, I’m just madly in love with you.” She lifted her chin to meet Alison’s mouth but the small woman ducked away before they made contact.

Alison slid downward, her lips leaving a burning trail down Taylor’s neck, across her chest, pausing to press a series of special kisses to the tiny, minimalist cross tattooed between her breasts before continuing on towards their final destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was very long but, in my defense, I had to build an entire character from scratch and then establish a whole relationship. Hopefully it all came across believably and realistically. Alison's time with Taylor changed her at a really deep level that I've always intended to be obvious and visible in LMG. If it's not smacking you in the face yet, it should be soon-- dating a psych grad student will do that to you I suppose.


	8. LMG Chapter 13

It was almost seven in the evening when Beth and Alison dropped Tony off in Mrs. S’s driveway. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, it had been a long day. Thirteen applications, turned in at thirteen companies, and he didn’t think he had a chance at any of them. No high school diploma, no GED, three stints in county and one in federal, and he wouldn’t be able to pass a drug test for weeks; he had nothing going for him.

He opened the door to the warm glow of S’s house. Kira was laughing, her fingers clumsy against piano keys, Sarah was shouting, ceramic dishes were clanging together in the sink. Helena was slumped on the couch with a knee thrown over the arm of it, watching an infomercial for something that cooked eggs.

He hung his head and shut the door quietly behind him, worked his tired legs up the stairs.

“Hey, man.” Cal was all smiles as he stood in the hallway with a basket of laundry. “Where’ve you been?”

Tony smiled, solemn, “Uh, Beth and Ali took me out job hunting. I gotta start paying my way or S’s going to boot my ass right out of here.”

“No she won’t, S would never do that.” He shifted the laundry onto a hip and dropped one of his hands onto the top of Tony’s shoulder, squeezed and shook him gently. “We’ve got you covered, Tony, you know that. You’re welcome with us no matter what— free of charge.”

He huffed air through his nose and dropped his chin to his chest, “Yeah, thanks Cal.”

“No problem, bud.” The muscular man lifted the basket a bit, “Gotta get this downstairs.”

Tony moved into his room, making way in the hall for Cal to pass by. He watched him thud down the stairs before turning into the room and closing the door. The space was always messy, he wasn’t a particularly tidy person and Helena was boarding on full-fledged hoarder.

He scooped a pile of his dirty clothes off the floor and dropped them into the hamper. Then he grabbed some wrappers and crumpled paperwork off the floor and threw them in the small trash can that S had demanded Helena keep by her bed (tired of finding half eaten candy bars squished into the carpet). His bedside table was littered with chewed pens and car manuals and old, greasy tools— the mess was overwhelming, he didn’t have anywhere to put all the shit he had. He flopped down on the edge of the bed and glanced over at the big plastic tub Beth had given him the day they visited Felix and Cosima, it was just more stuff he didn’t have room for.

He needed his own place.

He thought Beth would want to get an apartment, but she was too busy taking care of Delphine. He’d been angry at first, and in some ways he still was, but after last night, after he watched Delphine’s crumpled face, saw her sob into her rocks glass… maybe Beth was right, maybe Delphine did need her after all.

He needed her.

He wanted Beth to hold him the way she held Delphine, to hug his head to her chest and let him cry for a few minutes— he just wanted to cry for a _few fucking minutes_.

He dropped his head into his hands and took deep breaths, trying to calm the heat rising through his body, threatening to spill out of his eyes. He set his jaw and dug his hand into his pocket, closing his fingers around his phone— the phone Sarah was paying for— and pulled it out.

He tapped through to the contacts and scrolled down to a name he never wanted to call: Rudy.

He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hey, Rudy? It’s Tony…Tony Sawicki…”


	9. LMG Chapter 16

Sarah rounded the table, shrugged an arm forward, bourbon sloshing against the cubes of ice settled against the bottom of the cup. “I, uh, I didn’t know what you drink.”

Rachel’s eyes fell on the offering for a heartbeat before darting away into the crowd, “I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Sarah’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t drink, Sarah.” Rachel hummed. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Oh.” She lowered the cup.

The blonde’s eyes flicked back to her and she reached out. Their fingers brushed when she pulled the cup free of Sarah’s grasp. The hangnails alongside the nubs Sarah had bitten down caught against Rachel’s well manicured hand.

“I don’t have time to drink,” Rachel let the cup hang, the back of her elbow resting against her wrist where her arm was hugging her body. “I’ve worked very hard to get where I’m at.” She sniffed and kept her chin high, looking out over the table at their former classmates with distain she’d managed to maintain for ten years when even Sarah’s spitting and raging had waned.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sarah snubbed her nose, “I saw you, at the World Cup a few years back? You did great.”

Rachel’s head snapped in Sarah’s direction and her eyelids fluttered, “You were in Japan?”

Sarah huffed a laugh through her nose, “No, Rachel, I watched it on tv.”

The blonde bristled.

“Hey,” Sarah shrugged, “it’s whatever, right?” She tapped the rim of her cup to Rachel’s and brought it to her mouth, swallowing half the contents in a gulp that was big enough to hurt going down, “I’ll see you around, this party isn’t as good as I thought it’d be.” She lifted the cup in salute and spun on her heel.

“Sarah.”

She turned back slow and smooth, leading with her head thrown to one side, “Yeh?”

“Did you really watch?” Rachel finally had her eyes pinned on the punk, daring and firm. She brought the cup to her lips, the potent sting of bourbon made her nose crinkle— she sipped anyway.

The corner of Sarah’s lips twitched, “Ah, yeah.” She dropped her head and rubbed the back of her neck. “I watch most of your games, actually.”

“Really?” A smile threatened to split Rachel’s face but she forced it down with another shallow swallow.

A shrug, “When I can.” She gave a short laugh, “Not like Beth. I don’t think she’s ever missed one of Alison’s.”

Rachel snorted and rolled her eyes, “Of course she hasn’t. Alison is always prattling on about her.”

Sarah smiled and shifted closer, leaning into Rachel’s personal space, “Those two are so bloody aggravating.”

“Oh yes,” Rachel drawled, tearing her eyes from Sarah’s smirking face to look at nothing in particular, “disgusting, really.”

“Yeah, totally…fuckin’ gross.” Sarah let her eyes drop to her drink, Rachel’s body taking up part of her vision— they were, perhaps, closer than she’d anticipated. She swallowed, first her own saliva, then another nip of bourbon.

Rachel was unflinching, not giving an inch of space to Sarah’s intrusion. She, too, took a pull.

Sarah took a deep breath and rushed forward, “Rachel, I’m sorry I showed up at your house the other night. That was really stupid of me, I don’t know what I thought I’d—“

“Are you apologizing to me?” Rachel’s voice had a musical hint to it— light at the ends with the tug of her smile, so much so that her words might have floated away. Somehow, she was still malicious. She gave Sarah a beat to emphatically not answer her before she continued, lilting, “Sarah Manning…”

“Rachel,” Sarah’s strength collapsed into a growl, “don’t start.”

“Oh, motherhood _has_ changed you.” Rachel took a step closer, the small space between them suddenly vanishing with the click of her high heel.

The rumble deepened, low and warning, “Rachel…”

Still tipped with silver, like steel, Rachel dragged her fingers across Sarah’s chest as she walked past— her hand trailing along until she ran out of shoulder to tease. Sarah’s head turned, followed her as she went— dumb to the sway of her hips and the black dress painted over them. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut tight and groaned.

She downed the rest of her drink and dropped her arm, restlessly tapping her glass against the edge of the table. She looked in every direction for a single familiar face and came up empty. “Fuckin’…” she set her cup, now holding only stained ice, and spun, stalking off after Rachel’s retreating back.

Sarah lost sight of the blonde in the crowd, but she beelined for the bathroom. The reunion was held in the same venue that East Toronto High reserved yearly for their proms. That bathroom— Sarah’s eyes darted towards the door as she got closer— the same bathroom, with the same stall, that they’d last… Her mouth watered at the memory of Rachel’s fingers threading through her hair, pulling hard enough to make her see spots.

She was reaching for the door when Rachel’s hand shot out from somewhere to her left and gripped her wrist. “Now, now, Manning. I think we’ve outgrown the washroom— don’t you?”

Sarah turned into the pull and found Rachel standing by a metal door, her other hand resting on the push bar. She slid in close, nearly brushing against the blonde as she knocked her body into the bar and pushed the door open with her waist. Her wrist twisted in Rachel’s hold, hand grabbing her smooth forearm— Rachel’s skin, like porcelain where hers was covered in moles and thick hair and scars. She tried to imagine Rachel with elbows raw from a hard tackle, with palms scraped with dirt and grass stains, but she couldn’t.

Rachel let herself be pulled through the opening door. They’d found some dark hallway, some behind-the-scenes passage for the venue’s employees. Sarah pressed Rachel against the wall just inside the door. Her fingers ran slow up the blonde’s wrists on a journey towards her elbows; her skin was so much softer than Cal’s and so was her kiss. Rachel had only been so gentle on a handful of occasions, her breath making fuller contact than her lips did, and Sarah forgot to be angry, forgot to be frustrated or flustered, forgot to feel guilty.

Ten years of longing melted together with the clenched throat she’d felt with Rachel pinned to her car and Cal’s name on her tongue. Sarah Manning, pulled in every direction— gut one way, heart the other, head throughly refusing to offer any input— but Rachel stepped forward into her and she stepped back, pace after pace, until her shoulders bumped into the opposite wall of the hallway.

“Rachel…” her voice didn’t find any purchase, the name just air between her lips.

Rachel’s had more substance, “Save your breath, Manning—“ she paused for a moment and seemed to falter, as much as Rachel Duncan could falter. “Or is it Morrison now?” Her right hand caught Sarah’s left, fingers demanding against her knuckles, the silent count to her ring finger took less than the time it took Sarah’s heart to jump into her throat.

“It’s Manning. Still Manning.” This time the words were strong and sure.

Rachel’s tongue tutted against the back of her teeth, “All this time and still no proposal?”

The scathing tone was familiar enough to send a jolt down Sarah’s spine, “Two, actually.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up, bright in the darkness, and a cruel smile twisted the corners of her lips, “Poor boy.”

“It’s none of your business, Rachel.” The rage, like a fire too hot to be forgotten, flickered between them.

The blonde’s jaw jutted forward so slightly that had Sarah been more than a few inches away she might have missed the flex of muscle. “You made it my business when you showed up at my house.”

“I didn’t come ‘round for this,” Sarah gestured crudely in the small space between their bodies, her hand bumping into Rachel’s stomach, knuckles dragging against the fabric of her dress. “I wanted to—“

“To flaunt your family in my face. A final stab?”

“To find some closure.” Sarah snapped, her tense anger flicked against Rachel’s face in the push of air and in the moisture that belonged in her mouth, on her teeth. She softened the moment after an expression of pained shock shot across Rachel’s face; as brief as it had been, it was there, and Sarah had seen it. “I need closure.”

Rachel’s insides fumbled about in her body. Sarah Manning understood anger, and Rachel Duncan understood Sarah Manning. But with time Sarah Manning had grown to understand the smooth skin of a newborn, Kira’s first words, first steps, first tooth. She understood the scratch of Cal’s beard against her smile and the way the morning light streamed into their bedroom window and straight through his eyes. She understood Kira’s body between them, tangled in the sheets, sweaty in the creases and producing more body heat than any human ever should. She understood so much more than Rachel, who only knows the ball at her feet and the rush of a goal and the thrashing of Sarah Manning under her hands.

Sarah had grown to understand while Rachel stood stagnant.

“Have your closure then,” the blonde said, voice as icy as she could muster to cover the waver in her throat, “we have nothing more to discuss.”

Sarah grabbed for her when she pulled away, “No!”

“You’ve never been interested in talking before.” Rachel spat, flinging her arm free of Sarah’s hold and taking long strides until she was standing stiff against the other wall, staring at Sarah from across the chasm.

And they stood that way for long, panting, breaths— facing each other with wild eyes and shaking bodies. They were two masses of twitching muscles that wanted nothing more than to rip each other to pieces.

Sarah scoffed and brushed away the hot threat of tears with knuckles that hadn’t bruised a jaw in years, “Right, because you were so determined to talk about your feelings when we were kids. You can get off your sodding high horse, Rachel.” Rachel was silent, just fuming, with her head held high and her eyes pointed into the blackness of the distance. Sarah waited a full minute before she whipped frustrated words across the width of hall, “Will you fucking say something, please?!”

“I have nothing to say to you.” Rachel whispered. Her hand closed around the handle of the door, she was throwing her weight into her shoulder to pull it open when Sarah’s voice hit her spine— 

“I think I might have loved you.” Sarah was suddenly desperate.

She stopped, stood absolutely still with the door partially ajar.

“I have a kid now, Rachel, I can’t— I—I need these thoughts to go away— I need you to tell me this is over.” Sarah took two steps towards Rachel’s bowed shoulders. She’d only ever seen Rachel’s spine hunched when she was finding her legs after a trembling orgasm and the sight made her want to hold the blonde steady against the door, prop her up with a knee between her thighs the way that she used to. Rachel flinched when Sarah’s hand found her back. “It is over, right?”

“Right? Rachel?”

Rachel swallowed down some thick emotion and turned her head just enough to allow her voice to carry with an unsteady sound over her shoulder, “Of course.”

Her hand splayed— fingers stretched out between Rachel’s shoulder blades. “You’re a shite liar, Rachel.”

She wasn’t sure if the silent jump of Rachel’s chest was a laugh or a sob. Maybe it was something in between. The blonde turned as Sarah tried to move around her body, successful until the punk maneuvered a feline dip under her arm, coming to stand in front of her with hands grabbing her face to hold her in place.

Rachel met her eyes and ten years of underestimating the blonde came crashing down on Sarah’s head. “You have a family now.”

She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Rachel’s. She let her fingers dance over Rachel’s cheeks, she felt the muscles of her jaw move under her skin as the pressure of their kiss subtly shifted. Kissing Rachel still stirred something inside her, something like the anger, the wild rebellion of her youth. She pulled back, breathless, “This isn’t over for me.”


End file.
